“Don’t be impudent,” hissed the man, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not obliged to answer your questions. You’re here to do as I say. Every other boy who has worked for me has done my errands and said nothing. You aren’t any better than the rest. Any time I have anything for you to do outside the store, you’ll do it, or I’ll get a boy down here that will.”
Mr. Barton had grown angrier with every word he spoke.
Harry measured the enraged aisle manager with a clear, searching glance in which lurked a shade of contempt. “I give you fair warning, Mr. Barton, I won’t do an errand on the store’s time unless it is strictly on business for Martin Brothers. I can’t help what you say about getting another boy down here, I won’t do what I think is unfair to the men who hired me. I’ve never done a dishonest thing yet, and I’m not going to begin now.”
“I suppose you think you’ll go to Mr. Keene and tell him a pack of lies,” sneered the aisle manager, “rather than do me a little personal favor now and then.”
“I’m not a telltale, and I’ll gladly do any errand you wish me to do on my lunch hour, or after the store closes. You are welcome to my time, but I can’t give away what doesn’t belong to me.”
“You’ll do as I say,” ordered the aisle manager grimly, as though he had not heard Harry’s firm refusal. Then he turned on his heel and walked rapidly away, leaving Harry to stare after him, a bitter smile on his youthful face. He was learning the ways of men all too rapidly.
“What are you looking so gloomy about, Kiddy?” questioned Margaret Welch, as Harry strolled thoughtfully up to the desk, his hands behind his back. “Come here. I want to ask you something.”
Harry approached the exchange clerk’s desk. She bent down and said in an undertone, “Were you and old Smarty Barton having it out over there?”
Harry nodded.